


Bullets

by Jesse



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Jesse is just really fucked up, M/M, Songfic, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesse/pseuds/Jesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick oneshot inspired by a song that a friend of mine linked in the Discord server.</p><p>Jesse believes that he's killed Hanzo, and so he goes far away to finish off what is left of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akirata](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Akirata).



Years he had spent, years he had lived, fought, breathed, slept here. Yet the sun's rays seemed to bubble his skin with an intensity that he'd never once felt before. A punishment. Swollen, sweating fingers pushed his hat down onto his head, feeling his sweat-soaked hair pressing into the material, wincing as it felt like his very brains were cooking out of his skull.

Another footstep. Another footstep. Another footstep. Another footstep.

He left behind an uneven line of footprints, most of them dragging into the next one, unable to pick up his feet. The sand he walked on caused him to wobble unsteadily, as if drunk.

Raising his left hand, he moved to wipe the sweat off his brow before a string of profanities caught themselves in his dry throat, only escaping in a faint hiss. The steely fingers of his arm were as hot as molten metal, and they felt even worse on his sunburned forehead.

".. aahhahhaaa.."

Teeth sinking into his dry, chapped lips, Jesse dug his right fingers into the top of the prosthetic, breaking the seal and not even watching as the limb fell from his upper arm, onto the sand. He walked. Another footstep. Another.

The shots still echoed in his head, even through his delirious state of mind. For two days he had been out here now, beyond the reaches of Route 66, completely lost. Completely as intended. Peacekeeper on his belt hung heavily at his hip, feeling like he was carrying a person with him.

A soul. A heart. The trigger that claimed the lives of countless hundreds.

A soul. A heart. The trigger that would claim him before the sunlight would lay its final fingers on him.

Hand pressed to the side of his face, he almost felt like his fingers were glued to the hot, sunburned skin, ears ringing as he tried to drown out the sounds. Eyes lidded. Swollen. Filled with sweat and his tears had long-since stopped flowing. He was dehydrated.

_"Are you sure you want to do this?"_

_He had nodded, dusting the hammer off with a thumb before pulling it back._

_The veil of blood in front of his eyes had told him something was wrong, but he hadn't stopped. He should have. He should have. He should have._

_His finger had pulled the trigger with everything that he was, ignoring the red film that obscured his vision, which had caused him to miss the falling object that took one of the shots._

_Hanzo. Hanzo had been shot. Fallen. And then shot again. Shot again by McCree's own hand._

He hadn't looked back since.

With every single footfall he heard the shot ring in his ear, feeling his anger boil under his skin, shaking his limbs, causing his toes to drag in the sand as he plodded on. The anguished crying and hoarse screaming had stopped long ago, and he was only here with noting but his drive for his own penance and the revolver that he intended to use for such a purpose.

The blistering sky threatened to blind him as he kept going, the rays reflecting off the glossy sea of sand that he trudged through.

Above him, he could hear the vultures cry. They circled above his head, dancing like a coil of razor wire against the bright blue backdrop of the sky, the harsh glare of the sun. They were waiting. They knew. They were waiting. They knew.

The armor from his chest was discarded, too. He didn't know when he let it drop; he was only subconsciously aware that it was no longer there. His glove, gone. His serape, discarded. Chaps, somewhere long-lost.

Just the hat remained as an accessory, a token of who he was. The belt buckle clinked against the fastener of his jeans as he dropped to his knees, gasping softly as the bullets of the blistering sky rained down on his skin, feeling as if he were crisping up.

Peacekeeper was hot in his hand, the metal searing, the finish glaring.

Six shots.

Only one would suffice.

"Jesse!!"

He smiled, half to himself, feeling his lips crack and bleed as he did so. There were no tricks that his head could play on him now; not even the sound of his dead beloved would be one to halt him.

It was the way things were to be.

He could have sworn that the searing hot metal of the gun touching his lips hissed as it touched the thick blood that beaded around the chapped, flaking skin. His tongue tasted gunpowder, his throat tasted fear. There was no reason for it.

An eye for an eye.

A deadeye.

The shot echoed loudly off the canyon walls, and Jesse felt his body float backwards, and everything was soft. There was no pain. There was only Hanzo, peering over at him. Upside down. His lips formed that which was Jesse's name. Again. Again.

Spinning around. Blistering sky.

The black holes in the side of his face drew his eyes closed, and he knew no more.

+++

"He should be waking at any-"

"Look!! His eyes!!"

The soft glare of fluorescent lighting filled his cracked eyelids, and then a very large, dark shape stepped in front of them. Even without being able to see details, he knew that ponytail anywhere.

He felt both of Hanzo's hands clasp around his own, pressing his sunburned knuckled to his lips, cool and smooth.

"Jesse.."

His own name always sounded like a balm on everything that would hurt him, but there was much conflict due to his initial belief that he had killed Hanzo.

He must be dreaming.

Eyes closed.

"Jesse, no. I promise, this is me. I am alive and well."

The fingers tightened around his, fervent. Willful.

"I suffered only minor injuries. By the time I recovered, no one knew where you were."

It didn't matter. He still shot Hanzo. He had ignored a direct handicap and had pulled the trigger.

"Jesse.."

He felt Hanzo's head press against his chest, bandaged from severe sunburn, and it hurt, but it hurt in the best way possible.

His fingers twitched in his beloved's gentle hold, eyes still closed.

It was just a personal responsibility, to swallow a bullet.

Nothing personal.

Jesse McCree, ready to make sense of anyone, anything.

Nothing personal. Nothing to lose, yet everything to gain

**Author's Note:**

> I've created a social hub on Discord for Overwatch writers!! You are free to stop in to get help with your writing, find beta readers or translators, and meet your fellow Overwatch writer peers in the process!! Click this link to join: [https://discord.gg/owg](https://discord.gg/tHs6R38/)


End file.
